"More Than a Hundred Pounds."
"Henry," said his father, one day, "can you make up your mind to live at home and be a farmer?" "I would rather be a tanner than a farmer," replied Henry. "Very well," responded his father, who was willing to let Henry follow his own tastes, as he was now seventeen years old. "Very well, my son, I will try to find a place for you." Very shortly after a place was found for Master Henry with a good Quaker. When the youth presented himself at the tannery, the honest Quaker said:— "Henry, if thee will be a good boy, I will do well by thee; if not, I will send thee home again. All the bargain that I will make by thee is that thee shall do as well by me as I do by thee." "Very well, sir," said Henry, "I will try what I can do." Henry now went to work with a hearty good will. He worked hard, read his Bible, was steady, honest, and good-natured. The Quaker liked him. He liked the Quaker. Hence the Quaker was satisfied. Henry was happy, and the years of his apprenticeship passed pleasantly away. Just before Henry became of age, his master said to him:— "Henry, I think of making thee a nice present when thy time is out." Henry smiled pleasantly at this scrap of news, and said, "I shall be happy to receive any gift you may please to make me, sir." Then the Quaker looked knowingly at Henry, and added, "I cannot tell thee now what the present is to be, but it shall be worth more than a hundred pounds to thee!" "More than a hundred pounds!" said Henry to himself, his eyes sparkling at the thought of such a costly gift. "What can it be?" That was the puzzling question which buzzed about like a bee in Henry's brain from that time until the day before he was of age. On that day the Quaker said to him:— "Henry, thy time is out to-morrow; I will take thee and thy present home to-day." Henry breathed freely on hearing these words. Dressing himself in his best suit, he soon joined the Quaker, but could see nothing that looked like a gift worth more than a hundred pounds. He puzzled himself about it all the way, and said to himself, "Perhaps the Quaker has forgotten it." At last they reached Henry's home. After he had been greeted by his friends, the Quaker turned to him and said:— "Henry, I will give thy present to thy father." "As you please, sir," said Henry, now on the very tiptoe of expectation. "Well," said the Quaker, speaking to Henry's father, "Thy son is the best boy I ever had." Then turning to Henry, he added, "This is thy present, Henry—A GOOD NAME." Henry blushed; perhaps he felt a little disappointed because his golden visions were so suddenly spirited away. But his sensible father was delighted, and said to the Quaker, who was smiling a little waggishly:— "I would rather hear you say that of my son, sir, than to see you give him all the money you are worth; for a 'good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.'"